Where The Worm Never Dies
by The Road Goes On
Summary: The angels are coming and Sherlock knows. These are written as Vocabulary assignments in my English class, so if you see the occasional SAT word, it was because I was required to use it.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson, standing at the grave of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, cursing him for adulterating his life with sadness and making it bereft of happiness by foolishly and rashly jumping from the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital did not notice the stolid form of the weeping angel behind him. Sherlock, watching John from a distance, did see the angel, however, and that was why the angel was frozen. You see, weeping angels are more than just statutes, they are far more. Weeping angels are aliens. They have been said to be the kindest psychopaths in the universe. Weeping angels, when being viewed by any life form- including another angel- take on the guise of a dour statue insidiously intending to lure their prey into a false sense of security. What once was pliable and alive is now stone. Then you turn your back, them you just blink; the angel comes back to life, and with their ambidextrous hands, they touch you and you are sent back in time and they feed on your potential energy.

"...stop being dead," John finished as he broke down into strangled tears. He gathered himself, straightened into his half-remembered military stance and saluted Sherlock's grave. John turned around and walked out of the graveyard. Sherlock stayed hidden, but kept his eyes on the statue which gave no intimation of its real form. As soon as John was safely out of the graveyard, Sherlock turned and walked away.

"I told you caring is not an advantage."

"Don't reiterate yourself, Mycroft, it's a waste of oxygen," Sherlock replied.

"Do you see what you did to him? He's a broken man now."

"And I'm trusting you, regardless of my instincts, to ensure he's not broken beyond repair. John is a man of fortitude, he's strong, but what I did to save him has hurt him more than I imagined. Care for him, Mycroft, one day I'll return and I want him whole and unharmed when I do.'

"I trust you know about the angel situation then?"

"Yes, Mycroft, and I've already asked someone to take care of it." Sherlock turned to walk away.

"You didn't," Mycroft gasped in horror.

"Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder at his brother who was clutching his umbrella for dear life.

"I did."

John passed the gates of the graveyard and went to stand by Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," John said, "I don't think I'll be returning to the flat tonight. I'm sorry it's just...too many memories."

"It's quite alright, dear," replied Mrs. Hudson while holding back tears. "I'll have a cuppa ready if you ever want to come back.'

John hugged her and in that hug he tried showing all his gratitude for her and everything she'd ever done. In that hug he thanked her for turning the unkempt mess that was 221B into a home. He thanked her for always having tea and biscuits and a recorded episode of Connie Prince ready for him when Sherlock was in one of his moods. He thanked her for being the best landlady and not-your-housekeeper in all of London. He knew he didn't have to say goodbye to her, that with his job at the clinic he could afford the flat by himself, but John felt when Sherlock killed himself, he also killed the life he gave John.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson. I'll miss you," John said as he broke the hug.

"Goodbye, dear."

John turned and walked around the corner He had no idea where he was going, but he knew he wanted to get as far away from the graveyard as possible. He turned into a small side street lined with underground band posters and graffiti. As he reached the end of the street and was about to turn he heard a loud "whoosh-whoo" noise. John had never heard that nose in his life, but he had an instinctual feeling, the kind that's impossible to explain, that the noise was good. John ran to the noise and as he approached he saw a blue police box- the kind that used to be all around London in the sixties- materialize out of thin air. As he saw this miracle, John warily approached. John was about to knock on the door when it suddenly opened and a man in a tweed jacked and a red bow tie with perfect brown hair and cheekbones that reminded John painfully of Sherlock stepped out and ran into John's fist.

"OW!" the man exclaimed.

The two others who exited with the man, a tall red-haired Scottish girl and another man with a prominent pointy nose shouted with surprise.

"Who are you?!" John shouted.

"I think the real question is, who are you? You're the one who ran into my TARDIS and then punched me in the face," said the man with the bow tie clutch his forehead where a bruise was rapidly forming.

"I'm John Watson and I heard your- TARDIS, did you say? So I came running to check. And I didn't punch you, you ran into my fist."

"John Watson, you say?" asked the man, recognizing the name as the person he was supposed to find. "I'm the Doctor, just Doctor, nothing else, and this is Amy and Rory," he said gesturing to his two companions. "Now, John Watson, are you coming or what?"

"Coming where, exactly?" John asked tentatively.

"To fight the angels, of course."

The Doctor turned back into the TARDIS, followed quickly by Amy and Rory. John hesitantly followed then proceeded to gape openly at what he found on the inside.

"It's...bigger on the inside," John said in amazement.

"Yes yes, there are an opulent number of rooms. Your choice of bathrooms straight ahead and to the right. Swimming pool to the left and the library is to the right, then the left, then the second left, and the third right," said the Doctor as he turned knobs and pulled levers on the main console.

"But what is all this?"

"Rory, explain it to him."

"Why is it always me?" asked Rory, exasperated.

"Because you're the newest," replied Amy.

Rory sighed, still not used to his wife's playful gibes.

"Pretty much, the inside exists in a different dimension that the outside. There are an infinite number of rooms in here and they can augment themselves at will. This is a TARDIS- a Time And Relative Dimension In Space- it can travel through space and time. The Doctor is of an alien race called Time Lords who control the time vortex, which is what we are currently traveling through."

"Wait, you're not aliens too, are you?" asked John, looking back and forth between Amy and Rory.

"No no, we're humans. I was kind of dragged along into all this, to be honest."

"Good good, Rory!" shouted the Doctor from the console, "Now, John, I was sent here to protect you from the weeping angels. Don't ask who sent me because I won't tell you, just know that you must listen to whatever I say otherwise you will die, okay? Okay. Now, the weeping angels are aliens who can touch you once and pluck you out of your own time stream. They move fast, faster than you can believe. Look away, you're dead. Any statue can be an angel, so be wary. Now repeat after me, verbatim. Don't look away, don't even blink."

"Don't look away, don't even blink," repeated John.

"Good," said the Doctor straightening his bow tie, "Let's hunt some angels."


	2. Chapter 2

"Wait. Hunt angels?" John yelled at the Doctor as he ran out the TARDIS door.

The Doctor stopped, turned, and looked John in the eye.

"You must realize, John, the angels are the quintessence of evil. Every second we wait, we are putting more lives in danger. There's a person I have to see. She'll tell me what I need to know."

"Who is it?" asked Amy.

"The Woman."

The Doctor approached the house at West Drummlins. It was still a sad house, but the garden was groomed and trimmed, the paint had been redone, and it was made to be a beautiful sad house. Irene Adler had moved there after Sherlock helped her escape from Afghanistan. She took a flatmate after getting rid of Kate- too much of a liability. Her new flatmate had loved that house, which is probably why she was so open to taking the offer, even if it came from so strange a source. Sally Sparrow had moved in and soon became friends with Irene. Irene then made sure Sally fell in love with her. They now were a couple, a weird one at that.

The Doctor sauntered up to the door and rang the bell.

"Um, is this the woman I think it is?" John asked.

"Yeah, Doctor, who is this _woman_?" Amy questioned as she went to stand next to him.

"An old friend."

Amy glanced back at Rory, raising her eyebrows.

"But Doctor, if this is the woman I think it is, then I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into," John said, leaning forward to see the door.

"Of course I know what I'm getting myself into."

It was then that the door opened and Irene Adler leaned against the door post.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here. Look at you, bow tie and all, just as I remember. And oh, what's this?" Irene said looking Amy up and down, humming in approval.

"Hey, I don't know who you are, but lay off, she's married," Rory said, pushing the Doctor aside and staring Irene down.

Irene broke eye contact and looked at John. She tutted before she said , "Dear me, John Watson. I see you found someone else to follow around on beck and call. So soon after dear Sherlock?"

John simply glared at Irene, trying his best to not punch her, or yell at her, or quite possibly break down into a proper sob. The Doctor saw this and pushed aside Amy and Rory to look Irene in her eyes. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Leave it. I need to talk to you about something."

She pulled back, raised her eyebrow, then gave him a quick peck on the lips, "Come in, my dear."


	3. Chapter 3

"I like what you've done with the place," The Doctor said as he looked around the house. "Really fixed it up."

"Been here before then?" said Irene, leading the four into the sitting room.

"Once."

"Then I'm sure you know what's in the basement."

"I know what's in everyone's basement, Irene," The Doctor replied dismissively as everyone sat down on large, stuffed couches.

"What about their second basement?"

"Yes," said The Doctor, trying to avert his eyes.

"Would you like to go down there?" Irene asked with a suggestive tilt of her head.

"No thank you, I think it's best if I don't. Now the thing I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Irene, is someone there?" called a voice from upstairs.

"Yes, Sally, an old friend of mine just popped in for a visit," responded Irene.

Sally came down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. The Doctor got up and hugged her.

"Sally! You probably don't recognized me, I was in a different regeneration when we last met. I'm The Doctor."

"Doctor! Oh, I never thought I'd see you again! You saved my life you know."

"Yes, I suppose I did. I never thanked you for returning my TARDIS."

"No bother."

"I see you two have met before," Irene said as she sat up just a bit straighter.

"Yes, when I was sent back into the sixties by the weeping angels she returned my TARDIS to me and fought off the angels single handedly."

"Well, I had a bit of help..." Sally said bashfully.

"Speaking of the weeping angels," said The Doctor, "I know you have five in your basement right now. I'd like to speak to them please."

"Speak to them?" Rory interjected, "They can't hear you. It won't work."

"Yes it will," said The Doctor standing up and tugging at his jacket, "Well? Are you coming or what?"

Irene and Sally led the other four down to the basement, where the light was perpetually on, and showed them the five angels. Their faces were open in a gruesome grimace, their hands were linked and their wings spread out and wide. Their stone dresses were furled in a nonexistent wind and but for their faces, might even look peaceful. The Doctor approached them, sonic screwdriver held out. He stepped inside their circle and leaned into whisper something in one of the angel's ear. He pointed the sonic at them and took a reading. He whispered something else and the cycle continued. He interrogated the angels for over an hour while the five others watched.

The Doctor stepped back from the angels when he received the answer he was looking for. He closed his eyes resignedly, nodded to himself, and stepped out of their circle.

"Amy, Rory, John. Come." The Doctor said as he jogged up the stairs. "We have to move."

Sally followed, thinking Irene was with her, The Woman, however, stayed behind. She walked confidently over to the angels and leaned over ones shoulder, staring into the circle.

"Did you hear that? He knows your plan. He knows what you want, and so do I. I can get it for you. All you have to do is get me what I want."


	4. Chapter 4

Her adversary had left her and Irene was now alone with the angels. She stared into their eyes, plotting the demise of the consulting detective through artifice. She let her ideas fallow, musing about how to perpetuate them, when suddenly, an idea came to her. She was no craven, had turned deceitfulness into an art to rival the culinary talent of the most famous French chefs, and often received exhilaration from The Game, but she was reluctant to ask the Consulting Criminal for help- especially not when her plan would involve his own personal downfall. She thought maybe, just maybe, if she could say it right, she could coerce James Moriarty. Together, they would delete Sherlock Holmes from the universe. Before that however, she would have to alienate herself from Sally. Irene ran upstairs and met Sally as she was locking the door.

"Get out," Irene said with a coldness in her eyes that suggested a deeper distress.

"What?" Sally asked with a punitive tone in her voice.

"I said get out. I don't need you anymore. You are negligible."

"What brought this about? Why am I suddenly nothing to you?"

"The reason doesn't matter, just leave," Irene said, blinking back tears.

"Fine. I'll go to the Doctor, he won't think so little of me."

Sally grabbed her coat, and as Irene saw her open the door she felt an intense need to redress the situation- to call her best friend back and make things right- but she repressed it. There were plenty of precedents where she had done a similar thing, but this made her hurt worse than any of the others.

As Sally was about to open the door to leave, she stopped and turned back to look at her friend.

"I thought I meant something to you, but I guess not."

The door slammed behind her and Irene fell back on the stair handle. She gathered herself after a moment and planned out how she would contact Jim. She must not harass him at a poor time or risk an explosion of his inclement temper. She decided on calling him in the past, when he first met Sherlock at the pool where little Carl Powers died. She picked up her phone- a special phone that could call anywhere in time and space- and dialed Jim's number and a date and time. The phone rang.

"Hello?" Came a voice with a soft Irish lilt on the other end.

"Dearest Jim?"

"Yes, of course it is, what do you want?"

"Oh, it's not what I want, but something that might interest you. I have a band of angels time locked in my basement. They're willing to make an alliance to bring about the downfall of the man currently pointing a gun at you."

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" Jim suddenly screamed, "say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

"I'm not lying dear, I'll be waiting outside with a vortex manipulator to bring you with me. You can sojourn at my house while we flesh out this little plan of ours."

"Alright."

Jim left the pool after threatening Sherlock and Irene. When he walked outside he saw the urbane figure of Irene Adler standing outside.

"Coming?" She asked as she held out her wrist with a bulky black bracelet attached.

"Of course. But remember, Miss Adler, I owe you. I owe you big. And you never want to be on the receiving end of one of my I-owe-you's."

"I have nothing to fear, Jimmy," she said as the criminal clasped onto her wrist.

She pressed the button on the vortex manipulator and the pair disappeared into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The Consulting Criminal and The Woman appeared in Irene's living room with a flash of light and whooshing sound. Both knew that affiliating themselves with such a malevolent counterpart was dangerous business, but both also played it off. Jim stood in the middle of Irene's living room, attempting to ascertain what exactly Irene was trying to do. He was scrupulous in his observations as he skulked around the room with a supercilious air. Irene sat down on the couch, looking quite invulnerable. Jim dispersed and converged with Irene as he paced the room, but there's only a finite time you can spend strolling around another's house without speaking. Jim stopped his pacing and sat himself nonchalantly across from Irene. The Woman stared at the criminal, considering exactly how she was to bequeath her information to him in order to make it appear to be his panacea. She concluded she would have to appeal to his entirely venial vanity (considering Miss Adler was just as vain).

"Jim, you know I hold you in high esteem," Irene began. "Your ability to attain information from classified sources is simply uncanny(17)."

Moriarty smiled, recognizing the shameless flattery.

"Miss Adler, if you wouldn't mind, please be cogent here. I'm a busy man."

"Of course," Irene replied with a smile. Now, you mustn't think me omniscient, I just know some sources. Well, I know what they like. But I digress, I know you've had a hidden feud with one Sherlock Holmes for quite a while now. I know you're very upset that he's been interfering in your cases and, therefore, you set up a little game for him. The Great Game. You told him to lay off, but I can assure you one thing, he won't. I'm from your future, I know. You will only become more and more frustrated with the man if you don't listen to me. I have a way to expunge him, but you must continue your game. The plan won't work unless you keep an eye on Sherlock and vice versa. Do not go into hiding, he must be able to recognize your work and you must let him. It will be over a year in your time before this plan will come together; it's already happened for me."

Jim smiled his most malicious grin- the grin that brings the downfall of worlds and empires and kingdoms, and, occasionally, of men- and said, "Well then, tell me how I can kill the detective."


End file.
